Day 45

E:
Inside Outside

Stayin’ inside
more than we’ve ever been,
and I mean in ways more than these halls,
let’s get outside,
please can you tell me when
we’ll start making more windows than walls…

We are all in proximity,
in the vicinity,
inside these four walls that need painting.
Feels like infinity,
sometimes like divinity,
and all different kinds of relatin’.

We’re opened up in new ways,
we sit here inside our days,
reading and watching and waiting,
despair, death and data weigh,
the government makes delay,
while the president works for his ratings.

Despite everything we know,
we’re not sure where this will go,
our theories are all rearranging.
We’re up high and then we’re low,
the news is a gigolo,
sensation, seduction and baitin’.

I’ve shown you all my cards,
played endlessly in the yard,
we’re finding new ways of acquainting.
It’s lovely and then it’s hard,
I hope we won’t disregard
the new kinds of ways that we’re changing.

M:
We’ve made it over a month! I haven’t written every day, but that’s okay. I think about what it would be like to go back to school right now, and I don’t think I would like it. I’m perfectly content doing art projects all day and not being away from home for at least eight hours. In the beginning I wanted nothing more than to be back in school and to see everyone. Now I’m enjoying my peace and my alone time. I’ve become a more creative person and I’ve thought a lot about who I am and what I want to do with my future. During school I never had any time to think about anything other than school and soccer. I got up and left before the sun rose, and I came home after it had set. My life was a constant schedule and I felt like I zoned out for a couple months. Everyday felt like a dream that kept repeating over and over and over. During quarantine, even though the days are similar, I still use my free time to do different activities all day. I think throughout the day and I’ve opened up parts of my brain that I had no idea existed. I would never choose for this to go on forever, but for the time being I’m good. 

M:
My favorite team didn’t pick the player I wanted but they ended up getting someone much better so I was happy with the turnout. We went on another desert hike with my dad this time the hike was next to the river. We climbed on boulders and had a rock throwing contest. We ate really good food and I won the that game me and my mom play so she had to bake me a cake. My dog got dropped off at my moms house and I am spending time with her. She had been with my dad for so long that she took off after his car. I also went into town with my friend and we got free tacos and cokes. we ate them six feet apart then I went home. I have also still been playing online games with my friends.

Day 35

The first month has passed…

E:
The sky struggles
to procure the sun,
so we keep our faith
in springtime

and turn our faces
toward the rain.
New things are holy
now: Los Angeles

sings like an aviary
and electric starlight
dwarfs the house
next door; we shave

our heads in observance
of a Saturday night
hot dog eating contest;
nighttime fantasies

leave their fragrance
on the morning stoop,
a mood in minor key;
we dream

of our daughters,
of a cartoon pestilence,
a river, a romance;
guitar music

fills the evening and
empties the calendar;
a bald eagle moves closer
than the neighbor;

the children
are driving cars
on the back roads;
lovers curl together

and move apart, and
curl together; we wait,
we learn, we listen,
we play; and when

the world closes,
the heart finds
a new way
to open.

M:
We haven’t written in a while and I think that’s because we’ve adjusted to quarantine. I don’t feel the need to let my feelings out as often because they aren’t as emotional as they used to be. I’ve gotten my schoolwork completely under control which took a couple weeks, but now I feel much less stress and everything is easier. I taught myself organization and good study skills. Things feel normal. The only thing I feel I lost are my social skills. I know I can get them back but if I were to hang out with people, I think I would act different, I think everyone would act different. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from my friends since I was two. When I think about the worst part of quarantine I still think of my friends. But now thinking of them I don’t feel sad, I feel excited for the moment that we get to see each other. Why feel sorry about things you can’t control when you can look at the bright side and see the light at the end of the tunnel where we all get to hang out again and get back to our old life. Or maybe our new start.

M:
This week we set up the trampoline and with the new net it looks so much better. Rob was also here all week and that was super fun. We ate a lot of food. Yesterday I made hotdogs on the grill. they were all a little burnt but they were still good. My dad also came down and we went to the soccer fields and we played in my backyard. It was good to see him because I haven’t for awhile. I also hung up a signed football poster. The amount of school work we have has definitely increased. The NFL draft is on Thursday and I hope my favorite team picks Henry Ruggs. This year the draft is being held virtually so it will be very different from all the other years.

 

Small Candles Haiku

Candlelight dances
with early November snow,
home full of sweetness.

Books and blankets grace
soft pillows, always enough
room for each of us.

The nights grow ever
longer, and still the last thing
I hear is laughter.

Earth wheels her mighty
axis, powered in part by
these small gratitudes.

Emancipation

Three and a half years
since I’ve cleaned
these gutters. Leaves

turned to grey
confetti and finally
to dirt. In my hands,

mulch comes out in
satisfying clumps
the size of banana bread.

Others have offered
to clean these channels,
and for fourteen seasons

I declined –even
as the rains sloshed
unceremoniously

over the bulging sides,
even as snow turned
glacier slid down

the burdened rooftop
with nowhere to go –
precarious slabs of blue

that told the story
of neglect. But today,
in the quiet springtime,

I remove, finally,
the obstruction,
thinking sometimes,

the things we know
we need to do
simply have to wait.

Sestina of a Storm

Inside the pane, snowflakes resume falling.
She watches a screen diagram blue radar ripples,
a cyber shore-break of storm stacked on storm,
and dreams she is swimming inside the snowy house,
between the cresting drifts, searching for a memory,
the echo of a song.

It reminds her of him, this song.
She leans into sleep and soon she is falling
into the sea of cortex and the memory
of a voyage through blue hemispheres and tidal ripples.
He lived on a sailboat then, his vessel house,
thirty feet of fiberglass to take them through the storm.

This was not his first storm,
so he soothed his progeny crew with a shanty song
full of sailors’ words not allowed in their mother’s house.
The boom swung, and they clung to rails of polished teak, falling
down the prow into the centers of concentric ripples
expanding and expanding like the beginnings of a memory

that stretches beyond memory,
past the grey matter of a Pacific storm,
and deep into the undersea ripples
of a lifetime or more, where if a girl is lucky, a pirate song
might send her mind a’ falling
through the temporal house

of her own innocence, so that perhaps within the blue house
of her adulthood, she will recall how to fashion a sturdy sail from a moonlit memory
and winch the halyards tight, even now, as the mercury is falling.
To trust the wind is to fathom the subtlety of storm,
so she sights her sextant with a song,
humming softly beneath ripples

of cloud and sky, celestial ripples
turned to diamonds over a winter’s house,
battened down this night with a mother’s song –
the newest pebble in a pool of memory,
as Polaris glows softly through the storm,
by the moon forever falling.

Stories make ripples like skipping stones, and memory
surrenders, like a quiet house, to each passing storm,
while the waves play their endless song, and the snow just keeps on falling.

Winter Flowers

Wooden pencils scratch
over Tuesday night
word problems

to Django Rienhardt’s
Gypsy guitar,
while outside,

the mountains
turn ripe pollen orange
like this mason jar

dripping with stargazer lilies,
long past open. This is
one of the illuminated 

moments, when you notice
that everything matters,
that perhaps

you have landed
in the quiet center
of your own wild 

and beautiful garden,
and the children,
half sprouted,

are rooted
and blooming
like flowers.

Books

Before you died,
you told me
that these shelves

would look better filled
with books. This little house
has since become

a home,
rooms overflowing
with the footprints

of my children
and the voices
of friends. Our lives,

a stacking
of sweet and tattered
imperfections,

resemble now
these beautiful
bursting shelves,

now dusty, and topped
with your alabaster urn,
silver in the moonlight.